


Shattered

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Coda, Episode: s03e11 Beware the Green-Eyed Monster, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Light Angst, Light Smut, M/M, Nygmobblepot, Season 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:24:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: Never has he felt a pain such as this.His mother had died, but at least she will always be there.At least she had loved him.Edward did not.And it hurt.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My pain can not be written out.  
> But, perhaps my dreams can!
> 
> My ship still sails!
> 
> (At least, for now, until i'm hit with the cold realization)
> 
> But, anyhoo, enjoy! :)

The stone mansion on the hill is gloomy, only dull wisps of candlelight burning in the windows, but it’s clear to the city of Gotham that the mayor is not to be disturbed.

A pained yell rips through the night air and the gardener, on his way home from trimming the mayor’s hedges, looks back up towards the house, eyebrows scrunching.

He doesn’t know details, but enough whispered gossip had made its way outside earlier that day from the maid and the cook and he understood Mayor Cobblepot’s pain. Turns out he hasn’t been the only one rejected by a man in his lifetime.

_It was his right-hand man, no less. You know him, right William? The one with the glasses? Handsome, isn’t he?_

That damn maid is such a bitch.

But, she was sneaky and could pry details off of a muffled one-side telephone conversation in the Mayor’s private quarters and the clear rejection through thick stone walls.

William feels horrible about the whole thing.

Cobblepot wasn’t that bad, and being rejected was difficult. Painful. Especially by someone so close to you.

Gripping the trimmers tightly, William looks up at the Mayor’s bedroom window once more before sighing and turning away to head home to his wonderful, reciprocating husband.

 

===

 

Blood drips from the crease between his thumb and pointer finger. Glass litters the freshly scrubbed tile and he can hear the maid huffing in annoyance behind the door.

“ _Go away!_ ” He yells, throwing a vase against the wall, watching it crack and shatter, a crude metaphor of his heart.

Never has he felt a pain such as this.

His mother had died, but at least she will always be there.

At least she had _loved_ him.

Edward did not.

And it _hurt_.

He pulls at his hair and falls to his knees, knowing the wretched bruises that will develop there in the morning. Oswald can still feel his warmth, from their brief embrace earlier, surrounded by the perfume of new, unturned pages.

His only real hope was the fact that they were still friends.

But… Best friends?

Please. Edward was simply sparing his feelings.

So maybe he does still care.

But the tears are still forming in the corner of his eyes and his heart is still slowly beating as if excitement may never touch it again.

“I love you. I love you,” he whispers to the foot of his bedpost, fingers swirling his own blood, drawing a simple heart.

A tragically weak swoop in this moment for the mayor of Gotham, and yet it makes him feel lower, and the lower he gets the less he feels, along with the pain spiking up to his fingertips.

“I thought he was the one, mother,” he says to the clean scent of linen sheets, soft and familiar. The brink of his nose strays across them and he hiccups distastefully. “I believed that we, together, could eventually rule the entire world. That we could somehow be happy, _normal_ even. Oh mother, I- I… I keep _thinking_ … And I’m so misled.”

Tears and blood blend together and Oswald is left staring at the dormant chandelier hanging above his bed.

Normal.

Such a lie.

To everyone, to himself, to the people of Gotham.

He never will be and together, they definitely won’t.

After an inexplicable number of hours, Oswald pulls himself up and strips out of his clothes. It seems futile, immature, to dress in perfectly pressed pajamas and act like a king, and he instead rummages through drawers until he finds a soft t-shirt. It brings back surprising memories, despite the façade he puts on daily, the clothes he has found power in.

It shares the past.

A life of destitute, stale bread, his mother’s wobbling, warm smile, but cold bedsheets in a drafty apartment.

Comfort washes over Oswald as he tugs it on, and he runs a hand through his hair to pull it out of its painstaking mold. He can almost feign a slight happiness.

But as he thinks of Edward’s perfect pale skin and the slant cut of his cheekbones and his soft pink colored lips, as pure as the peonies in the garden, he crawls into bed, lonely, and mourns the loss of the only person he cares for in this world.

 

===

 

It’s to drifting dawn on his pillowcase and something silky and warm dragging across his cheek that Oswald wakes up, that same fresh smell at his nose and the familiar cloth on his back.

But, something’s different.

The scent he has been memorizing for months is near and Oswald is about to yell out loud, because clearly his idiotic conscious just wants to spite him, but there’s the sound of shuffling feet and the clearing of a throat.

He springs up abruptly, pulling the sheet up to his chest out of habit, and stares over into the unblinking eyes of Edward Nygma.

“Ed! I- What-”

“ _Shut the fuck up_ ,” Edward says deeply, fist clenched, all business and no play, no rhymes to soothe the way.

Oswald’s mouth shuts immediately, drawing back against the headboard. On the other side of the bed, Edward stands, hair drawn up smoothly, tie tucked flat inside his suit jacket.

It’s silence for a long time, and Oswald swallows, unable to look Edward in the eye any longer.

But it’s broken promptly after his cowardice takes ahold.

“You killed Isabella.”

It isn’t a question, but it makes Oswald’s blood run cold, the guilt running clear across his face.

“I… Yes.”

“Why.”

“You know _why_ , Edward,” Oswald says roughly.

“I want you to explain it to me,” Edward demands, tone dark as he tilts his head. He unbuttons his suit jacket and loosens his tie, fist clenching and unclenching.

Oswald looks down at the covers and breathes out.

There’s no holding back now.

“I wanted you for myself, Edward. And she was in my way and I just- I didn’t realize how much she meant to you and it was idiotic, I know that, but I thought maybe we would have a chance.”

He waits for the explosion, but it never comes.

Looking back up, he watches as Edward gazes out the window through the gossamer curtains, sun shining on his face and Oswald sucks in a sharp breath, hating that this man still makes him feel boneless inside, hot and cold and hopeful.

“Are you here to kill me, Ed?” Oswald whispers.

Edward raps his knuckles against the bed post, slowly, ominously. “I’ve had time to think.” He looks over with an unreadable expression on his face. “You took away someone I thought I loved dearly. But, I have begun to realize that I was possibly… Caught up in the moment.”

Oswald’s head snaps up.

“I _did_ love Isabella, so don’t think that I have forgiven you,” he continues. “It still hurts. But, she wasn’t Ms. Kringle. I realize that now.”

“I don’t understand-”

“There’s nothing for you to work through right now, Oswald. Nothing to _understand_.” Edward pulls his tie off and folds it before tucking it into his pocket. “All you need to know for the moment is that I have locked the door and I will be crawling into this bed and I will not talk about it any longer.”

Oswald gasps lightly, heart pounding in his chest.

They lock eyes, everything frozen around him as Edward Nygma unbuttons his dress shirt, exposing even more deliciously pale skin. Oswald can barely breathe as he pulls it off his shoulders, folding it so _perfectly_ \- that elegant bastard- and setting it down, along with his trousers.

Oswald has to look away as Edward shucks them gracefully, his face turning a deep red.

“Ed, you- you don’t-”

“I said _shut your mouth_ , Oswald,” Edward rumbles out, eyes cold, sparkling, dastardly and making him tense up, overcome with a sense of being so turned on he could cry out.

Edward sets a knee on the bed, the foreign weight moving Oswald closer and then the sheet pooling at his waist is being ripped away and Edward is bending his leg and sliding between them. “Oswald,” he murmurs, lips only inches from his, breath hauntingly warm where the cool air touches.

Oswald sucks in a breath, mind racing.

And Edward is everywhere- his hand is on Oswald’s leg, one thumb rubbing at the hem of his t-shirt, electricity racing through him when it catches and touches bare skin.

“Y-yes, Ed?”

“I need you to not say one word that could compromise this situation and make us _think_. At all, really.”

“Oh- I-”

“Can you do that?”

Oswald holds Edward’s gaze, eyes flicking down to his lips as he reaches out, quivering fingertips brushing across the same face he had been dreaming about almost every night, skin he had desired to touch and kiss and a broken man, such as himself, to take care of.

To somehow make him feel safe.

“Whatever you want, Edward,” Oswald says quietly, sitting up and bumping his forehead against the taller man’s, feeling positively _mad_.

But maybe mad wasn’t totally uncalled for.

And perhaps he deserved a little madness.

A little _more_ , at the very least.

The healthy kind, if it truly exists.

The anticipation is truly terrifying, and Oswald sucks in a sharp breath as he cups Edward’s face in his hands and their lips meet softly. Of course, nothing stays slow and dreary forever, and Oswald’s brain is turning the cogs and he’s more awake than he has ever been before.

Edward’s hand moves under his shirt, pressing warm skin against chilled, and Oswald moves forward to slide into his lap.

He gasps when Edward bucks up, lips gripping at his viciously.

A laugh makes its way up his throat and they break apart as Edward’s nails dig into Oswald’s hips. “ _What_?” The taller man hisses. “What could _possibly_ be funny to you right now?”

A surreal thought streaks across his mind and Oswald smirks. “I never thought of myself as a submission person, Mr. Nygma.”

“And?”

“I can’t help desiring a cold, dominant hand across my bleak sex life.”

And there it is again, that kindly, boyish smile and that glint in Edward’s eyes and Oswald kisses it off his face, rolling down into the significant bulge under thin cotton, moaning.

It’s faster than Oswald had dared to dream of in relation to their first encounter, but it’s more blissful and crashing than he had ever imagined.

They rub together frantically, meeting each other in the middle, and Edward’s eyebrows clench together as his beautiful lips part and he gasps, holding Oswald close. He follows soon after, digging his face into the other’s neck, practically sobbing with relentless want and the chaotic completion with the one person he had desired to share it with all this time.

His arm wraps around Edward’s neck, their breath aligning, and Oswald can’t help the satisfied smile that moves across his face.

“Thank you for coming back,” he whispers, pulling away to look into Edward’s tired eyes.

Edward’s smile is brief, but he lays him back against the pillow and rolls to the other side of the bed and for a moment, Oswald freezes, realizing that this had possibly been a onetime thing and Edward will leave him forever and he should have taken his time…

But those thoughts are momentarily dashed as Edward peels back the tucked in covers and moves under them, facing away from Oswald, but still close enough that a hand brushes against his.

“I wouldn’t dream of leaving your side, Oswald,” Edward says softly.

Soothing as it is, Oswald stares at the other man’s back, at the pale lines of his shoulder blades and the knots of his spine.

One day they’ll have to talk about it.

It’s inevitable.

And it could either end with forgiveness or a brutal war, but Oswald doesn’t plan on fighting.

He doesn’t regret the death of that stupid girl.

But, knowing the pain he caused- _still_ causes- the man he loves dearly snaps him into a state of wondering just how he will apologize and how he will mean it and all sorts of other things that Oswald has never thought of before.

All of this is new.

But, maybe, hopefully, _together_ they can search through this undetermined path and find a light waiting for them at the other end.

It’s all Oswald can wish for as he slides under the downy covers next to a man whose riddles are so unobtainable it makes his heart jump delightfully and fall into a much more peaceful slumber than the last.

**Author's Note:**

> I was actually thinking of giving this a second part, but what are your guys' thoughts?  
> Lemme know with comments and kudos ;)


End file.
